The Empty Crib
by Solarmech
Summary: The death of one person can sometimes lead to the birth of another. Contains Spoilers for Bioshock Infinite: Burial at Sea Part 2.


The Empty Crib

(Contains Spoilers for Bioshock Infinite: Burial at Sea Part 2.)

Her head hurt, her arms hurt, her legs hurt, all of her hurt.

A part of her brain started listing off the bones that hurt the most. 'Sternum, C3 and C4 vertebra, left clavicle, right ulna, 5th, 6th and 7th left ribs.' They didn't feel broken, they just hurt more than the others. She managed to stop herself before she started listing the muscles that hurt the most. It was a long list.

She tried to move her head. AHHHHH! The Pain!

'Left temporal and parietal are cracked. Felt worse before, I can handle this.'

'When have I felt worse?'

The image of a large wrench hitting her head raced across her mind and vanished. It was followed by other images, something in her back, tied to a chair, a strange machine, something in her eye, someone shooting a gun at her, fire, but they made little sense.

"Shush, don't move." A deep voice said. " You've been hurt, but you're going to be all right."

Her heart leapt. That Voice! She knew it. She trusted it. It was going to be all right. She knew that. But whose voice was it?

"I have the light turned down. You can open your eyes."

Her eyes didn't want to open. 'Swollen. I must look terrible.' With effort she cracked them open and looked in the direction of the Voice.

She knew him. She didn't remember him. But still she knew him.

Even sitting down he looked big, strong. Dark brown hair, green eyes, needed a shave, an old battered suit, a red tie? The expression on his face was worried and relived all at the same time. It was a little funny actually.

Her mind started to dredge up more images. A city, clouds, water, a bird thing, an angel, violence, a man with a long beard, a cage, falling, the man sitting beside her, a lighthouse, blood. But they seemed distant. Fragments. Her mind felt like a library that had been emptied.

"I didn't expect you to wake up so soon. And yes, I am real." The man said with a slight smile. The tone of his voice turned concerned. "How do you feel?"

"F. better." 'I can talk!' "Head hurts."

The man smiled sadly. "You were hit in the head very hard. But it's more uh, healed than it feels. The Doctor said in a couple of weeks you should be up and around like it never happened."

The pain was receding somewhat now. But the wrench came back to hit her again anyway.

"Where am I?"

"New York City. My home."

She looked around the room. Things looked unassuming. Well made, but not extravagant. The wrench came back. Pain. Black. But something after it? A girl?

"Who are you? I know you, but can't remember..."

Again the man looked both worried and relived. "After you rest some, I'm sure you'll remember. You called me a lot different things at one time or another. You can decide what to call me now." The man smiled slightly.

"Oh, That's helpful." She tried to glare at him, but didn't think it worked.

'What is MY name?'

El..Eliz..Elizabeth. No. That didn't feel quite right. But it was right. But wrong. Like it belonged to someone else now?

The wrench hit her. Pain. Black. A strange girl. She remembered seeing things. But she couldn't see them now. Then she saw nothing. Several fragments fell in place.

"I died. You called me Elizabeth and I died." she stated flatly.

The man didn't look as nearly as surprised as he should have, only sad and worried. Everything fell together, Columbia, Songbird, Comstock, Atlas, The Sea of Lighthouses, Rapture, The Doors, Fitzroy. But they seemed cold, empty. As if it happened to someone else. The only warmth came from memories of the man beside her.

"Elizabeth, died. She couldn't live with all that had happened and all she had become. You might say it was killing her soul."

"Then who am I?"

"Who do you want to be?"

The wrench in her mind vanished mid swing. 'Who do I want to be? Have I ever been given that choice before?'

"I still remember her. Some of it. All of it. Too much of it. Not enough."

He smiled ruefully. "I know how you feel. Sometimes I remember the other ones. Sometimes Comstock. But memories are the past. They aren't who you are right now." He paused a moment to think. "Elizabeth died so that Sally could escape that city. So she could have a chance, a choice. You could say Elizabeth died to give you the same thing."

'I died to give myself a chance?' Too much. Change the subject. Think about it later.

"How did you? Why?"

"When I woke back up from *whatever* happened, I was back in 1893. And the crib was empty. I uh, had some trouble for a while, but was able to make some good investments. Even if my memories from before don't stay the same, they could still be helpful." He paused. "It took years to build a tear contraption(1)." He waved his hand off to the right and down indicating it's general location. "And even longer to find you."

"How, how long?" Part of her was aghast at what he had done to find her, but also astounded.

"It's 1913 now. I meant what I said about never abandoning you."

The thought of her being something like Lady Comstock slithered into her mind. "Why am I still alive? HOW am I still alive? I DIED!"

He reached out to grasp her hand. "Calm down, just calm down. Your' fine, your' not a ghost or something from a tear. I would never do that to you."

"Then how?" she asked in a small voice.

The man looked down a little bit. "I, uh, cheated. When I found you, I realized I couldn't just barge in. I had to respect your decision, no matter what. I knew where it all was going and helped where I could. A few supplies here and there, made sure you got the Possession Vigor. I also did a lot of looking around and found something I could use. Those people in the underwater city had invented something called a "Vita Chamber." It can bring the dead back to life. Heals or rebuilds a person enough so they won't die from the injuries that killed them. That bastard Suchong had a working prototype in his lab. So I made a short trip through a tear and reset the machine so it would work for you using the sample of your hair Suchong had. Glad he had it. I wouldn't want to have to go to Monument Island again."

The man's big hands curled in barely contained rage. "After AtLAS was *done* with you, I opened a tear to bring you back here. That was earlier today."

It was a lot to absorb all at once, but better than the alternative she had imagined. "Water, please? I think I can sit up."

While drinking the water, her mind raced. "What should I do?"

"It's your decision. If you want to stay, you can stay. If you want to leave, you can leave. Paris, if you want. I won't stop you."

Somehow, Paris didn't sound as enticing as it should have to her. "How can I stay? People just don't just appear out of thin air." As she said it, she realized how many times she had seen people do just that. 'Oh, that was dumb.'

"Tomorrow's Times' headline. 'Reclusive millionaire finds long lost kidnaped daughter! Happy Reunion!' I'd rather not have it in the papers though."

A thought struck her. "The Tear Machine. What are you going to do with it?"

"Destroy it. People aren't ready for it and probably never will be." He paused, a look of concern, almost fear, crossing his face. "You don't want to use it, do you?"

She was having trouble keeping her eyes open.

"No, no. I do NOT want to use it. Sorry, so tired."

He relaxed and smiled. "We can talk more after you get some sleep. If you need anything there is bell cord to your left. Or just yell. There is something I have to do. It should only take a few minutes and then I'll be back."

As light went out and she lay back, she realized what she wanted to call the man.

It was "Father."

'I have GOT to get him some new clothes.' And for the first time in so many years, Anna DeWitt closed her eyes to sleep and dreamed of a library slowly filling with all kinds of new books.

Epilog

Something that might have once been human pulled itself across the floor and muttered to itself.

"Suckers. I'm not done yet. Oldest trick in the book. Play'n Possum. I got more ADAM. And when I get it, gonna rip those little brats limb, from limb. I'm gonna tear the whole city apart piece by"

*click*

The thing that had once been called Frank Fontaine looked up to see a man in an old style suit looking down at him. The man's face was impassive, but hard. Then it realized that the man was holding a pistol and it was pointed right between its eyes.

BLAM

Booker Dewitt emptied the clip into Atlas, Fontaine or whatever the hell it was now just to be sure it was dead and would stay that way.

Booker had been fairly sure Fontaine would have died before long. But he was not going to chance it. When he first stepped through the Tear, he had wanted to kill Fontaine for what he had done to Elizabeth. But then he realized Fontaine was not worth his hate, his anger. This thing wasn't a man or even an animal. It was a monster, a thing that had not been human for a very long time.

Even so, Elizabeth would not have wanted Booker to kill this thing in revenge. And he didn't think the young woman newly arrived in his home would either. And finally, surprisingly, Booker himself didn't want to kill it for revenge.

So he tried to let go of his anger. He had tried many times before, but never really succeeded.

This time he did. It both easier and harder than he thought it could ever have been. Letting go.

It didn't mean he was going to let Fontaine live though.

Not for what Fontaine had done, but for what it would certainly do. Booker didn't need to look through a tear to be certain Fontaine would kill those poor kids if given any sort of chance. Elizabeth had died to save Sally and the rest from Fontaine. He was going to make certain they could use the chance that Elizabeth had given them. He didn't know what would happen to them or to that Jack fella. He didn't want to know. Let them live their lives.

After reloading, he went to re-holster his pistol, but stopped to look at it. How long had he had this gun? He has used it to fight off the "debt collectors" that had been sent after him in the early days. Killers from the Black Hand had fallen to it. Sent more than one thug to his grave. He had used one much like it in Columbia.

Maybe it was time. She had left much behind in this place. Why couldn't he leave something as well?

Booker DeWitt walked over to a piece of machinery and placed the pistol on it. As he walked back to the Tear he could see the sledge hammer on the other side and smiled. Soon, the Tear Machine would be nothing more than scrap metal, it's work done. He knew there would be other monsters to fight. People filled with greed, hate and fear. That was for another time. Today, for both of them, the dark shadow of Columbia was finally gone.

(1) Contrary to what some people may think. Booker is far from being Dumb Muscle. He figures out how to operate an airship after looking at the controls for just a moment. Booker's problem is that he does not have much of an education or the personality to be studious. But give him a reason to study and he should excel. In case Booker does run into something he can't figure out, he knows where to get help. A version of Robert Lutece should be around in his reality (and whispering through the walls at Rosalind). Even if he is not around, his papers should be. Also one of the great minds of the period, Nikola Tesla had his lab five or six blocks from where Booker lived in 1893. (That is not a joke, I looked it up.) The reason Booker built the Tear Machine himself is that he didn't trust others not to abuse it. And of those he knew would not abuse it, they could let the secret of it's creation out. Better to be safe than sorry in cases like this. sm


End file.
